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Saturday, 29 June 2013

I don’t want to say a speech, so I
thought that instead, I would tell you a story.A tale about the greatest love story, never told.

Their eyes met across a cricket
field of all places.Not your
conventional meeting ground, admittedly, but somehow that is all that it
took.And from that one glance, a spark
was ignited.A spark which conflagrated,
into a raging inferno.

Sixty years later - a lifetime and
a legacy - they’re celebrating their Diamond Wedding anniversary with all of us
here today.

Five children, children-in-law, a
few ex-children-in-law, twelve grandchildren, some grandchildren-in-law, bonus
grandchildren, great-grandchildren, even bonus great-grandchildren too.What a remarkable achievement.A living legacy, which continues to show
growth.

An incredible and abundant wealth
of people, who have sprouted forth from their union.

They met while they were still
both at varsity.And though both of
them, came from farms, they could not have had more different upbringings.Still, that ever present spark, forged them
together, as if they were inexplicably drawn towards each other.It was fated that they belonged to on another.

They have had wonderful times
together.They have both seen the other
completing their education.Seeking
career paths and settling down to family life.

They have always had the amazing
ability to turn a mere brick and mortar house, into a home.Lovingly decorated, renovated, and furnished
with love.They have passed this ability
on to all of their offspring and have gifted us too with a deep appreciation of
the aesthetic and all things beautiful.A love for fine music,
beautiful art, reading, décor, magnificent furniture, architecture, etc.

They have been an example to all
of us, of a physical embodiment of love.Their commitment to each other and their children and the entire family
so awe inspiring.They know all of us so
exceptionally well.They take the time
to learn about our interests and that which intrigues us.They engage us in interesting conversations,
about fascinating topics, broadening our horizons continually.My mom loves to say, that she feels fed after
a visit to them. And all of us understand so clearly exactly what she means by
that. Because it is so true.

They have shown us what honour
and dignity looks like.They have taught
us all to stick it out through the tough times, because they’ve had plenty of
those too.

They are phenomenally positive
people, with a wonderful outlook on life.They have changed with the times, and kept abreast of new things around
them.

They are project driven, and are
always busy with a few things at the same time.Things that in turn inspire them too.

Through their example they have
shown us the incredible power of forgiveness.Of overwhelming encouragement and belief in all of us, with our every
single adventure and endeavour too.They
have also shown us tolerance and acceptance.Of making allowances for those different to us.

They both have a remarkable sense
of humour, which I do believe has given them much fortitude in life.

They have shown us the bond of
family.Not only those family members
closest to us, but the far-off ones too.And when I say far-off, I don’t mean in terms of distance, but also the
bond between cousins, second cousins, aunts, uncles, great aunts and great
uncles too.Everyone connected through
blood is equally important.But not only
them, everyone married to a family member is embraced and accepted as well.

They have long-standing
friendships, cultivated over many years.They are in their eighties, yet look at the people who are surrounding
them today.Not just family members, but
friends too.Friends of all ages.Not many people at their age or even younger,
are so revered and loved by so many.

They have shown us the importance
of keeping busy.Of indulging in
hobbies.Of never ceasing to try and
expand their horizons and their knowledge of the world.They are both incredibly interested in
history, yet manage to keep up with current events at all times.

I love popping in to Cloetenberg
in the mornings, after I’ve dropped my kids off at school.From the outside I always see their bedside
lamps burning.And when I step out of my
car, open the front gate and walk up to the front door, I am always overcome
with an overwhelming gush of love, and anticipation of seeing them.Of being embraced by this beautiful home, as
I step over the threshold.Of the
familiar sights, sounds and smells.Usually, when I ring the front doorbell (it is able to wake the dead), I
can hear the dogs scuffling inside, and Oupa schloefing to the front door in
his slippers and gown.He simply always
opens the door with a smile on his lips and a joke on hand.Urging his beloved dogs to attack me (I do believe that this is
said most lovingly).And when I step
inside, after greeting me, Oupa normally says in a conspiratorial fashion, “die Miesies is nog in die bed”.
And as I walk into their bedroom, he’ll
say, “Ma, kyk wie’t kom kuier”.To which
Ouma replies, “Aaahhh, Helene!How
lovely to see you”.

And before my eyes, I see the
physical proof of exactly who they are.Bed strewn with the day’s newspapers, dogs sleeping at their feet, tea
mugs on their bedside tables, hearing aids, spectacles, an open peanut butter jar, with a
spoon stuck inside on Oupa’s side of the bed, an empty peanut butter jar, jam packed with pencils, on Ouma's side of the bed for her beloved Soduko’s.Books either side, photos of their
family.Beautiful artworks and antique
furniture even in their room.

We are all so abundantly blessed
to have you in our lives.For the love
you have shown us and continue to show us.You are interesting, fascinating, intelligent people.Who stimulate all of those around you, and
inspire us to greatness.

Thank you for the example you
have set for us, of endurance and perseverance and the healing power of love.

I would like to end off, by
quoting one of Ouma’s favourite sayings,

“Birthdays are celebrated by the
grace of God.But as for
anniversaries?By God you have to work
hard for those and earn them”.

And I think the magic trick, is
that you both chose well.You’ve both
made the hard work worthwhile for the other.

Celebrating 60 years of marriage
is a remarkable achievement and we are all so grateful to celebrate this
wonderful occasion with you.

Friday, 28 June 2013

I wonder sometimes if my writing
is okay?And if there was a writing
scale, in which category would I fall?

Would people tick box a) Goodish
but a bit boring

Or would they tick box b) It is
okay, but it could be gooder

Then there’s box c) It aren’t the
worst, but nor is it the betterest out there

Maybe box d) It’s not my bag and
the writing is not very good

Perhaps box e) I kinda like it

Or finally box f) I dig it a lot

A whole bunch of “f’s” would be
awesome.Still that’s not why I’m doing
this whole blogging thing.Hey don’t get
me wrong, affirmation that I’m on the right track is awesome.Comments of encouragement and appreciation
make my day.They really do.Every single “like” lifts my spirits.Forwarding and sharing a post, even more
incredible.Perhaps the greatest gift,
is the fact that when people like or comment, it means that I’ve been heard.The interaction I get is super rewarding.

Does that make me needy?Or does that make me honest?

It's not that I think I'm good - it's that I really just wish that I was.

My blog is my therapy.And I must be super-messed up, because I’m in
therapy every single day.Some therapist
out there, is missing out big time.I
could be putting his or her kid through varsity one day.Or perhaps paying for that vacation
overseas.And let’s not forget paving
the driveway.

My blog is my rock painting in a
cave.It’s living proof that I’ve roamed
this fair earth.Because the evidence
will remain in my posts.In the stories
I wrote.

My blog is my “I was here”.

My blog is my “I cared”.

My blog is my “I tried hard to
make a difference”.

My blog is my “somebody heard my
voice”.

To me my blog is also my “look
how far I’ve come and how I’ve grown”.

My blog is a record of my
children’s childhood.It preserves
little snippets in time, frozen in words.Small vignettes of daily life.Of
how they’re growing up and me with them too.The words they say, the things they do.Because time has a nasty habit of making things fuzzy.Of blurring the lines and erasing some
memories.And my stories are capturing
perfect accounts of everyday life.Not
the highs.Not the lows.Just average days.Because though photographs and videos are
great, they still don’t manage to perfectly encapsulate the feelings and the
essence.And perhaps a written account
is better equipped to do all of that.To
paint a picture with words.One that is
vivid enough to evoke memories in years to come.Making one able to see, smell, taste and
touch.And transport you right back to
that day.

I am not just a blogger.I am a writer.But my blog is the only platform that is
willing to publish me.

But, hopefully not forever.And if this is as good as it gets, and I
remain a blogger forever, then I am super blessed.It has been rewarding beyond measure.Fulfilling and creative.It has stretched my boundaries and made me
think.It has taught me stronger
discipline in seeing something through, having made a commitment to
myself.It has broadened my horizons.Made me more aware of others out there.People that are far less fortunate than
me.It has grown an already well-established
sense of humour even more.As well as my
perception skills.Making me see
opportunities in everything around me.Picking
up on nuances I might previously have not been aware of. It has made me value that I have to be true to me and be honest in all. It is a release valve of all I had possibly merely
been storing deep inside of me before.Giving
outing to my thoughts and my feelings.Providing
me with a place to truly be me.

Most important of all, it has
given me joy!And a more developed
appreciation of how exceptionally blessed I am to be surrounded by so many
awesome and amazing people.The wealth
and depth I have of family.My
incredible friends.My most magnificent
children.And my wonderful Grantie.

The origin of some sayings are really rather odd. And I must confess to feeling rather perplexed at times.

We are so used to saying these phrases and they have become so automatic to us and entrenched in our everyday language, that it is hard to join the dots as to their true origin.

But perhaps even more perplexing than the well-known and commonly used ones, are the ones that are indigenous to different families. Right, you know exactly what I mean. Unleashing these sayings on anyone outside the family circle only succeeds in causing confusion and expressions of what-did-I-just-miss?

So for now, let's forget about those. They're hard enough to define. But what about the more commonly used ones? The ones all of us use all the time? Have you ever noticed how bizarre some of them sound? Imagine being unfamiliar with English, and trying to learn the language. Idiosyncrasies like these must be rather difficult to fathom.

I mean, just imagine if we took these saying at face value. What a scary world we would live in. Full of uncertainties and confusion. Weird and wonderful things happening all around us.

People would be as sick as dogs - which immediately makes me think of mange for some or other reason. A most dreadful illness for any human being to have. I mean, geez - imagine trying to scratch behind your ear with your left leg???

Raining cats and dogs would surely be a scary sight to witness too. How come domestic animals seem to always get the shortest end of the stick?

Speaking of which - how can one end be short. And another be long? A stick is a stick, is a stick. One length. Huh?

Then there's breaking the ice and we all know how spectacularly unsuccessful an event that was for the Titanic.

And as for waking up on the wrong side of the bed, perhaps more appropriate would be the wrong bed altogether? As in having a few toots too many and showing bad discretion and a lapse in judgement with regards to a choosing a partner for the night perhaps?

Sleeping like a baby is another one that baffles me. Anyone with any experience of babies will appreciate what a huge big misnomer this is. Babies are not known for their sleeping "prowess" or patterns. Rather their lack their of. In fact, they are champions in the field of broken sleep. And are so chuffed with this distinction, that they proudly show their skills off to their parents - a few times a night.

With regards to spilling the beans, can we perhaps get a bit of clarification. Are we talking coffee beans, green beans, kidney beans, haricot beans? Or the old humble and faithful baked beans in tomato sauce?

And I hate pointing out the obvious, but in the world I live in, inanimate objects don't speak. Nor do they sing, dance or talk. So exactly how is it possible for the pot to call the kettle black? And does this strike anybody else as being ever so slightly racist?

Throwing in the towel is another odd saying. In my humble experience, people through balls. Occasionally frisbees. Aussies throw boomerangs. And on rather rare occasions, wives have been known to through objects at their husbands. But towels? Super ineffective, I should think.

I would also think that it is super obvious that tomorrow is another day. What with each day having a different date, I would think that it would be a logical conclusion, that tomorrow would be another day.

And I don't mean to be picky, but pods generally are blessed with more than just two peas. So what's with the whole two peas in a pod thing too?

Blood being thicker than water - is this a weird biological chemical viscosity thing? And who ever thought of such a phrase. A doctor perhaps or a medical practitioner, given to weird phrases and a penchant for stating the obvious?

Calling a spade a spade makes kind of sense. Especially as a spade is technically called a spade. What else would one call it after all? A hairbrush, without the bristles? A really long, thick, flat shaped toothpick? Come on people - let's keep it real!

As for a chip on the shoulder - are they talking French Fries, crisps, slap chips or wood chips, as in garden mulch. And surely there are better places to keep your slightly greasy food? Perhaps a packet, or a bag - just a suggestion. Use it - don't use it.

Putting the cart before the horse - now that makes no sense whatsoever. Because if you put the cart befo..... Aaahhh! I get it! Good one!

Climbing on the bandwagon. Now is that the equivalent of a tour bus when a band goes on a roadtrip? And would a Kombi classify as a wagon? Or even a mini-van of sorts?

Now I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed (he-he-he) when it comes to genetics, but surely it is biologically impossible for a leopard to change it's spots. And why would it even want to? Surely acceptance of your ethnicity and cultural, species background is far more important than changing?

So can you understand how potentially difficult it is to comprehend the English language?

I don't care what anyone says, it's quite simply not as easy as falling off a log...

Thursday, 27 June 2013

Teen pregnancy. For me it is a very sad occurrence. One that happens quite often actually.

I am overcome with empathy for
families who have to deal with this. The
ripple effect is just so very, very huge. In fact, I suspect that some of those ripples
may last a lifetime. I can but only imagine the shock and heartache that must surely accompany the realisation that a teen is pregnant. Not only for her, but for her parents too. In fact her whole support system. And that of the father and his family too.

I am the result of a teenage
pregnancy. And given the fact that I am
forty years old, I reckon those ripples back then were probably more like big
waves.A tsunami of sorts.

My folks were very brave, held
their heads high and simply got on with life. I suspect they were the cause of much fodder
for the ever busy rumour mill.They
chose to get married, even though my grandparents had offered to raise me. My dad was successful in obtaining a weekend
pass from the army for the wedding. Which
I reckon was probably just as well, as he was stationed far away and most of
his weekend pass was spent travelling to and from the army base he was stationed
at.Sadly for my mom, she received a
lovely letter from the teacher's college where she was doing her training,
asking her to leave. Admirable is the
fact that she did just that. Went off,
had her baby and started studying again at college when I was just ten days
old.As mentioned in a previous blog, I apparently
started sleeping through the night at ten days old too.A suspicious coincidence if you ask me…..

I somehow think that teen
pregnancy is on the rise. And contrary
to popular belief, it is not just happening in certain communities. Teen pregnancy is not discerning. It can happen to anyone. And I think that any parent who thinks that
their child is immune or protected is sadly mistaken.And this goes for boys and girls.Because though girls are the ones falling pregnant,
they most certainly aren’t getting that way on their own.

Another home truth is the fact
that teen pregnancy is not the only phenomenon on the rise. The abortion rate is escalating wildly too. And I wonder how safe an alternative this is? One sees advertisements for same-day service
with regards to abortions stuck on every imaginable surface. Lamp poles, refuse bins, Stop street signs,
etc. Surely reputable doctors would have
no need to advertise in this manner? Or
perhaps reputable doctors don't perform abortions.And therein lies the difference.

When Luke was in Gr 7 in Primary
School, the kids did a course, called Choices, sponsored by the school. It taught them the basics of sex education,
the risk of diseases (especially with our HIV and Aids statistics being so
shocking), as well as a few home truths about the escalating rise in teen
pregnancy.Personally, I had thought
that it was quite young for them to be exposed to a third party, other than
their parents and immediate teachers to give them education on such a sensitive
matter.Until we were informed by our
class teacher, that this is exactly the right age.And that somehow receiving education in this
manner from professionals, knowledgeable on the topic, amidst their peers was
super effective.Furthermore, the
largest percentages of teens giving birth, happened in June/July of their Grade
8 year (the old Standard 6).Which meant
that these kids were having unprotected sex during their September holidays in
Grade 7, when they were just twelve and thirteen years old.It scared the bejeebers out of me.Holy-friggin-moly!!!

I think that another factor
involved is the promiscuity of kids these days.They seem to try so hard to appear to be bigger and older than what they
really are.They are acting, speaking
and dressing way beyond their years.Why?And more importantly why do parents allow
this?I would not want my thirteen year
old going to a party wearing a dress short enough to look like a belt, a face
plastered with too much make-up and perilously perched on heels nearly
impossible to walk in.And the boys are
most certainly not innocent either.

The most effective form of birth
control is abstinence.But teenagers
will always push those boundaries.And so
perhaps proper sex education and advocating safe sex is the best option.Also instilling in them a sense of the huge
lifelong responsibility attached to raising a child.Their lives will be irrevocably changed.Even more so than they can ever imagine.

A very good friend of mine has a
teenage daughter.And one of the
daughter’s friends had a baby – a few years ago already.Apparently she is taking a fair amount of
responsibility, though her mother is practically helping her to raise her
little baby daughter.It makes sense, as
she is still in school and has to finish her most basic education at least.The father and his family are also
contributing to the costs of raising this baby and are fairly involved
too.Still my friend says that her
daughter and friends, look at this baby as a cute accessory.They dress her up really nicely and pose for
photos with her, like she’s a real live doll.Little hats, and cutie outfits, etc.But then they go home.And while
they can all go out to parties and hang out with their friends, the mother of
this child cannot.Even though she is
technically still a child herself.

I also think that a huge problem
is that teenagers often see sex as a valuable commodity.One that can be traded for popularity,
amongst others.Fidelity and
faithfulness is not a given.And quite
often kids that are indulging are not even in a relationship.They hook up at parties, with other teenagers
they barely even know.

Perhaps playing with lit dynamite
sticks would be safer?I think that
maybe the best thing we can do, is to be watchful over our children.To guide them on the right path.To engage them in communication and make them
aware of the consequences of their actions.

Because no matter how you look
at, kids shouldn’t be raising kids.They
should still just be kids.

Tuesday, 25 June 2013

Our darling Madiba is not well at
all.And I fear that to say he is ailing
is putting it rather mildly.Though in
actual fact, I believe we are rather kept in the dark as to the true condition
of his health.Still concerns and media
reports have been stepped up from “stable” to “critical”.This does not bode well at all.In addition, he is surrounded by his family
and loved ones and I’m assuming that this is heralding the end of an era.They have come to pay their last respects and
to say their goodbye’s.

I know that at 94, we should
grant him a reprieve.He deserves for us
to let him go.He has served us
well.Has united us all.Has championed our cause with the rest of the
world.He made us one nation.He has earned the right to lay down his
mantle and just to let go.

Still, we cling.How can we not?We love him.

It is rather ironic that his
health has taken such a bad turn, on the anniversary of one of his greatest
gifts to us.Eighteen years ago
today.And what was that gift?It might seem rather trivial, but somehow the
donning of a Springbok rugby jersey, was one of his greatest gifts of all.But why?Surely it was just a jersey?Yet somehow,
it was more than that.Bigger than just a
jersey.The Springbok rugby jersey, was
a symbol of the sport of the oppressor.The former government that had called him a terrorist and sentenced him
to twenty seven long years in jail.Well,
no actually that’s not right.They
sentenced him to life.It was simply the
foresight of some members of a waning National Party, that had the vision to
see that he could unite our troubled nation, and therefore allowed him to be
released after a “mere” twenty seven years behind bars.Furthermore, they knew that the tide could
not be stemmed.It was either release
him willingly and freely or face a revolution.

When Nelson Mandela was released
from prison, on the 11th of February 1990, I was an impressionable
seventeen year old.I had no concept of
what this would mean for our country.But
what I did know, was that there was a lot of fear.Insecurity.Fears of instability and unrest.An
uprising of the black majority.A white
minority uncertain as to how their world would change.

The writing was on the wall.Times they were a changing.The black tide could no longer be stemmed and
it was inevitable that this former “terrorist” would one day become our
president and leader.What manner of
retribution would rain upon our white heads?Though it was certainly true that neither me, nor my family, friends,
etc. were responsible for his incarceration, and that we were all pretty
liberal, we were still “blessed” with white skins.And might be judged by that failing in a
country now heading towards complete and utter black domain and domination.

Would this much feared Nelson
Mandela, we knew so little about, leave prison with hatred in his heart?Would he encourage his people to plunder and
pillage?Would we be safe?Would he attempt to get us back for his pain
and suffering?Would our lives be
disrupted by unrest?How badly would our
status quo be altered?How much would
our lives be changed?Because one thing I
knew with certainty, was that things could not remain the same.The winds of change were in the air.The question was, by how much it would
change?And how soon?

I remember watching his release
on TV.Understanding that it was a
historic moment, but feeling as though we were on a knife’s edge as a nation,
and that the scales could be tipped either way.He looked so normal to me.So average
and like so many other people.Ordinary,
and not fear-inspiring at all.Still in
those first few seconds on the screen, he seemed powerful to me too.A man with a purpose.He was surrounded by so many people.Peaceful people.And the image of him and Winnie walking hand
in hand, with each holding their free hand aloft, clenched in a fist, will stay
with me forever.

Amazingly, he started preaching
for peace right from the start.Even more
impressive - he practiced peace too.He showed
with his actions and words that he was a loving man.A humble man, who wanted to unite all South
Africans, irrespective of race, colour and religion.He was well spoken.Educated and eloquent.Charismatic, with a gift for people and
communicating with them.

And on that day, the 24th
of June 1994, Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela showed us more eloquently than ever,
that he was prepared to put the past behind him and focus on the future.On building a new South Africa instead.And in many ways, the Rugby World Cup was not
won by the fifteen men on the field (although they most certainly did their part).Those fifteen men were destined for
greatness, because their president spoke to them before the time, and inspired
them to give their all, to an adoring home crowd.He allowed them so see his vision for a
united South Africa.A South Africa that
would truly start to become healed by sporting greatness.Because in its truest form, sport is colour
blind.It has no regards for race or
religion.It is a unifying force and
never was this more evident than on that day.

An initially very weary and
nervous South Africa, had by the 24th of June 1994 done a complete
turn-around.And as Nelson Mandela
stepped on to the field, donned from head to toe (he was even wearing a
Springbok cap – bless his soul) in Springbok gear, the capacity crowd of 62 000
people, chanted “Nelson!Nelson!Nelson”.On that day, Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela, became our beloved Madiba and
the rainbow nation was truly born.

I include some of his awesome
quotes.These help to give you an
essence of the wonderful man.

“We enter into a covenant that we
shall build a society in which all South Africans, both black and white, will
be able to walk tall, without and fear in their hearts, assured of their
inalienable right to human dignity – a rainbow nation at peace with itself and
the world."

"Never, never and never
again shall it be that this beautiful land will again experience the oppression
of one by another…"

"I have fought against white
domination, and I have fought against black domination. I have cherished the
ideal of a democratic and free society in which all persons will live together
in harmony with equal opportunities. It is an ideal which I hope to live for,
and to see realised. But my Lord, if needs be, it is an ideal for which I am
prepared to die."

What a great man.We love you Tata Madiba.We salute you and thank you for all you have
done for us.Your selflessness and your
lessons in humility and forgiveness, will linger in our memories.We hate to see you go and mourn your loss
already.

But you have deserved the right
to rest now. Your message has been passed on to us. Your legacy will live
on.We will continue to strive to make
you proud and to honour your memory and all that you stood for.Our gift to you, will be to continue with
your teachings.To honour your vision.

And I do believe that your
passing will be a reminder to us of how far we have come.Your people, black and white, will weep for
you.How united we are now.For irrespective of race, religion or culture
– we love you.One and all.And we will all mourn your loss.

Sunday, 23 June 2013

I am absolutely famous for
singing along loudly to songs.Quite
often, I indulge in the car, and give my kids my own personal renditions of
truly awesome songs (I do a fabulous BohemianRhapsody, complete with all of the voices).Which strangely enough they don’t seem to
enjoy all that much (bunch of weirdo’s – they just don’t appreciate true
talent!).I get such enjoyment from
it.And never let it be said, that my
lack of conviction about what the actual words in a song are, puts me off
singing at full volume.Why would I let
it bother me at all?As long as it
sounds vaguely the same, I’m happy.My
family however does sadly not agree.As
mentioned before – bunch of weirdo’s!

For many songs, the lyrics seem
so garbled, that it is quite possible to mistake the actual lyrics in the song,
and use similar sounding substitutes instead.To be none the wiser, until years and years later, when you accidently
read the inside cover of a CD and see the real words.Sometimes rather surprising.It can even change your whole opinion about a
song completely.

I remember my Dad always
commenting that irrespective of where they played a gig, at some or other point
some drunk guy would stumble up to the stage with a request for them to please
play, “Hasie”.Now South Africa being in
possession of a large number of Afrikaans speaking people, I do believe that
the first time they got this request it baffled them quite a bit.A song about a rabbit?Seriously?“No, sorry mate, never heard that one.How does it go?”.To which they
inevitably got an off key rendition of “I see a bad moon a rising…”.Right!It actually makes perfect sense.Kinda.In a weird and twisted way.

I suppose the same logic applied
to ABBA, when they had to learn their own song lyrics, what with them being
Swedish and all.And not being
proficient in English when they first hit the scenes.Phonetically learning the words was actually
rather ingenious.

Amongst others, there was the
Rihanna song, “Don’t Stop The Music”.There
is a catchy little phrase in the song, which goes like this, “Ma ma say, ma ma
sa, ma ma coo sa".It is rather
infectious little ditty and chances are, once you’ve heard the song, you’ll
find yourself singing along to it, every single time thereafter.But on my foray into misheard song lyrics, I learnt
that it has become a bit of an anthem to those obsessed with Bill Gates and his
wonderful Microsoft.As many people out
there sing along too, but with them the words are:"I'm insane, I'm the sound of
Microsoft."And I must confess, I am
clearly a Microsoft convert too, and will sing these same lyrics from now on
too.How can I not?

But perhaps, nothing will ever
compete with the confusion of Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody in terms of mistaken
lyrics.My hat!The sky is the limit.Pretty much anything you can imagine, has
been substituted for the actual real lyrics.Well, perhaps they’re not the limit.Nirvana is also vying for top spot.

So perhaps give this a thought,
the next time you sing along loudly.Are
those really the right words?And does it
really matter?

Take it from me – poutaytou,
poytahtou…

As long as you’re having fun and
enjoying yourself, that’s all that’s important.Who really cares?I bet Bill
Gates doesn’t.

Saturday, 22 June 2013

My husband has a Man-Drawer.In fact, dotted around our home, at a few
choice, select places, he has a few.Please note that a Man-Drawer, is not to be confused with a Man-Cave.They are not the same thing at all.Though technically both belong to men.

Perhaps it is time to de-mystify the mysteries of the Man-Drawer myth...

So exactly what is a Man-Drawer?Well it is sort of the stationary version of
a women's handbag.Without the benefit
of being encased in awesome leather or material of course.And then there's the fact that it's not
mobile at all.Such a wasted
opportunity.

And whereas women are
occasionally accused of having the entire kitchen sink in their handbags, men's
Man-Drawers might sometimes really contain bits of a sink.Including some contents of one too.Like a mug without its ear.The chain, formerly attached to the plug from
the sink.And stuff of that ilk.

So what else does a Man-Drawer
house, and why do they contain these mysterious items?Well, the contents will vary from home to
home, man to man, and Man-Drawer to Man-Drawer.But here are some of the seemingly random things you might find in one
(actually my husband’s to be more exact):allen keys for items he no longer has, superglue, shoe laces, mismatched
screws, bolts and nuts, perhaps a universal spanner type thingie, or maybe
those teeny-tiny little screwdrivers you use to fix your spectacles, spare keys
for cars we no longer have, keys for locks no longer needed, batteries (some
charged, some not, some way past their prime), pieces of string, electrical
plugs and double-adaptors, darts, pocket knives, fishing gut (not that my man
fishes at all), bulbs, all manner of tape and glue, glue sticks, lanyards, fish
food (not that we even have fish at present), pumpkin seeds (this one is a bit
of a mystery – we don’t really do the whole gardening thing), hosepipe
connectors, etc.The loot list seems
endless!Where does it all come from?

Perhaps the best way to describe
it, is to say that it is the equivalent of a whole garage, condensed into a
drawer.Pretty impressive actually, all
things considered.Space limitations are
a given.Though, my man also has Man-Boxes.Not to be confused with Man-Boxers.They are not the same thing at all.Though technically both belong to men too.Man-Boxers contain Man-Vegetables (sorry,
it’s true, i.e. two potatoes and carrot).However Man-Boxes, are also a form of Man-Drawers.My man has Man-Boxes for all manner of cables
and wires.From cell phone charges for
cell phones we no longer have, to computer cables for computers we no longer
have.Other Man-Boxes contain CD’s and
DVD’s which double as instruction manuals or installation discs for computer
programmes we no longer have.DVD
players we no longer have.Computer mice
(mice is the plural of mouse, right?) we no longer use. Cd players we no
…..Then there’s a small mountain of
defunct cell phones, with their accessories.Battery chargers, and random loose batteries.Old camera’s and their chargers.Computer speakers, headphones, broken
torches, DVD drivers, etc.Truly
amazing!!!

But just maybe, I shouldn’t be
too hard on him.Because truth be told I
have a few Woman-Drawers too.Let’s call
them Chick-Chambers.And perhaps in the
same way that my husband’s Man-Drawers confuse me, my Chick-Chamber would
confuse him too.It also contains
apparent random things, like:butterflies to earrings I no longer have, old sentimental cards, pens,
shells that I picked up from that beach off Sentosa Island in Singapore, old
dummies belonging to my kids (shame, so sweet that they were so little once!),
the odd photograph, nail polish, a macaroni angel Amber made for me at
Playschool, a whole collection of broken jewellery items (all neatly put
together in a little baggie – bangles, necklaces, etc. – a mountainous pile of
beads!), a broken off label from the hairdye box I used the last time I dyed my
hair about nine years ago (just in case I want to use the same colour again –
L’Oreal 26 Maple Burgundy Red – I rocked that colour), little notebooks,
lip-ice, a felt heart Amber made for me, a gold egg-shaped maraca (???), hair
clips, hair ponies, nail files (hey, I might actually manage to grow my nails
one day!), sentimental letters, perfectly round little Kleinbaai stones, on
which the kids have hand drawn ladybirds, bookmarks (many, many, many
bookmarks), extra buttons received on clothes, coins from all over the world, a
few Chinese notes, two whistles (???), bath salts (given to me by Cole – he
hand mixed it at Cubs one year), bits of ribbon, broken mobile bits, clothes
labels, trinkets from Xmas crackers, tweezers, etc.Actually, stuff that all makes perfect sense
for me to keep there.

I do however feel honour bound to
admit, that in addition to my Chick-Chambers, I also have a few areas of attempted
Diva-Domain.I have the odd Broad-Box
dotted around.And Honey-Hampers too.I have many, many receptacles and containers
filled with woman’s loot.Buttons, and
materials and bits of pretty ribbon.Beads, and string, and jewellery making essentials.Knitting stuff, needles, wool, cotton,
etc.Special pencils, and stationary and
girly-twirly things.Stuff I deem
essential.

In which case it is rather cheeky
of me to poke fun at my husband’s Man-Drawers I suppose.Especially as I dip into his Man-Drawers so
often, to get stuff I also seem to need…..

Thursday, 20 June 2013

It is peculiar how on occasion,
two seemingly opposite disciplines, actually end up complimenting each
other.They sort of run parallel to one
another.And though their skill set
might appear conflicting or not related at all, they have a symbiotic relationship
towards each other.In this same manner,
musical ability and mathematics are linked.It is a well-documented fact.Apparently Mozart himself, was a mathematical genius.

I have often noticed how soccer
and footballing skills, are linked to acting.No seriously!It’s true.

Few people are better equipped to
give Oscar-winning-worthy performances of fake injuries than soccer
players.In fact, they’ve turned it into
an art form of sorts.And it wouldn’t
surprise me in the least to hear that in preparation for movies like, “Saving
Private Ryan”, “James Bond”, the “Die-Hard” franchise, the “Lethal Weapon”
series, etc., actors like Tom Hanks, Bruce Willis, Mel Gibson, Daniel Craig,
etc. became understudies of soccer players and job shadowed them for a period
of time.All done with the hope of
learning from the true masters, the not-so-subtle skills involved in faking
non-existent injuries.

Perhaps they accompanied them to
regular practices for a while?Maybe
even joined them on the pitch and gave it a go themselves.It would make for an ideal opportunity for
the soccer players, to point out exactly how to better dramatize and exaggerate
the appearance of unbearable pain.Possibly, they also undergo a few voice coaching sessions, in order to
help them to learn how to effectively project their voices and use their vocal
chords to their full ability and capacity.In that way, they are ensured of giving accurate renditions of howls of
pain and screeches of torture.Huge
emphasis is placed on marrying the exact pain-filled facial expression with the
dramatic clutching of shins.These must
all be synchronised to perfection, lest the game be given away.And a part of the trick, is being able to maintain
the illusion of being gripped by agonising paroxysms of apparent torment.All this done, whilst surreptitiously peeking
to see if your performance is garnering the necessary attention.Most notably that of the referee.Writhing around is super effective, and might
elevate matters to a yellow card and a free corner.However if you’re able to squeeze out a bit
of vomit for extra effect, alongside with claims of concussion and broken
bones, it shows true commitment to your trade.And for your effort you might be rewarded with a penalty shoot, and a
red card at the very least.

Can you just imagine what a
brilliant soccer player Jason Statham must be?Why he is able to vividly mimic near-death and sometimes even death
itself.Super believable, I tell
you.Clearly soccer’s loss, was the
acting fraternity’s gain.As well as the
gain of his adoring public.

In the same vein does that mean
that great soccer stars (I mean actors) have decided to make football their
calling, at a loss to the acting world?Not that he’s given to many displays of fake injuries, but perhaps the
deciding factor that pushed David Beckham into soccer and not acting, was the
high pitched tone of his voice.It does
have a rather piercing, shrill quality to it.Which might have led to him being typecast in certain roles only.Not giving way to the full spectrum of his
abilities.And so perhaps in his case,
acting’s loss, was a huge gain to football.One we’re ever so grateful for.

Perhaps many of the football
greats, see soccer only as a short term career.And have their eye on the long game.Taking up acting after they’ve reached their shelf life as a
footballer.And so, perhaps, they merely
indulge in faking-non-existent-injuries, to keep their acting skills from
rusting.Furthermore, it also allows for
the opportunity for movie producers, directors, casting agents and the like, to
witness their dual talents, while indulging in watching a soccer game.Rather impressive multi-tasking if you think
about it.

Which makes me think – wonder
when Becks will make his movie debut?Nah, all things considered he doesn’t really indulge in the
faking-non-existent-injuries thing at all.So perhaps, we should merely sit on the side lines and wait for Neymar’s
soccer career to wind down.

He might end up being the next
James Bond…..

And to illustrate my theory, I present
you with two youtube clips, which will substantiate my claims.In fact I beg you to disagree.See for yourself.